


Plush

by NeverSatisfiedGirl (Kalli_Ravenne)



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Body Image, F/M, Fluff, Intimacy, Language, Reader-Insert, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:53:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalli_Ravenne/pseuds/NeverSatisfiedGirl
Summary: Here’s the thing: he’s not dumb or blind. Finn has been around you long enough to know the tells. The places your hands and arms go first when you’re nervous or embarrassed, as if to protect them. He's going to show you why you have no reason to hide...especially not from him.





	Plush

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello hello! So once again, life’s been kicking my ass and keeping me from my writing. I’m not always the fluffiest writer, but this was purely therapeutic. And my goodness did this come out fluffy. Like a warm blanket from the dryer kind of fluffy. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this one. And thanks for being patient with a girl. 
> 
> Based on:[ this prompt](http://neversatisfiedgirl.tumblr.com/post/161837910296/confessing-to-finn-that-youve-been-avoiding)

Heavy breathing, heart pounding, shirt unbuttoned, hair in slight disarray…  


…and a very amorous, insanely beautiful Finn on my couch. Probably worried out of his mind wondering what sent me bolting for the bathroom.

Which is where I’ve been for the past two minutes. Trying very hard not to cry while simultaneously kicking my own ass. Always did have a gift for multitasking.

_The hell was I thinking? I shouldn’t have started this. It shouldn’t have escalated, what kind of idiot am I? He’s not gonna stay when he sees the rolls and stretch marks and-_

SMACK! Ow…okay, maybe I did that a bit too hard. Maybe I deserve it for that moment of stupidity.

He really isn’t superficial like that. Far from it.

Still…

My brain retraced the path that got us here because, by all accounts, it didn’t make a lick of sense. Finding out that a public figure I admired was a fan of my books was one thing.

Finding out it was _him_? I nearly fainted.

A single Twitter exchange led to meeting up for lunch, which led to exchanging numbers and texts, which led to hanging out more.

Our playful, flirtatious banter evolved so wildly over time, we were practically a “baby girl” nickname away from being Morgan and Garcia from _Criminal Minds_. (He agreed after we had a mini-marathon of the show.)

After that, the bantering led to cuddling. That led to massages. And that led to passive, innocent kisses on cheeks and hands. Which further turned into not-so-innocent kisses on the neck. And heated kisses, and clothed fondling, and a fair amount of dry humping…

 _Wow_. All things considered, I should have seen it coming. He’s already felt me pressed against him, so it obviously doesn’t bother him. And he’s turned me on so much that it stops bothering me before long.

But… this time, he’s actually trying to see beneath my clothes. And it’s got me freaking out.

_Okay, pull it together. He’s still out there. Just…talk to him. Say you’re not quite ready yet. He’ll understand. It’ll be fine._

_Okay, alright. Looks like another appointment with my B.O.B. tonight. Fuck._

I walk back to the couch and -

He isn’t there.

“Finn?” I called.

Almost as if on cue, his hands slip around my waist from behind and pull me into a firm embrace.

I didn’t even hear him walk up behind me. It’s like he’s a fucking ninja.

Not that it mattered. I lean back and melt into his arms, relieved he was still here.

And then, “Show me.”

I was puzzled. “Show you what?”

“The parts you don’t like about yourself.”

My breath caught in my throat, my thoughts jumping the train to Nopeville immediately.

But he was persistent. “I’m not blind, love. I see the way you cover up your stomach when you’re around other people, as if you were hiding or protecting it. You did it around me a lot at first, too. It’s different with me though, isn’t it? I can feel it in the way you gasp against my lips whenever I touch it. Or your arms…”

“…or this gorgeous arse I’m pressed against. Hard as a rock from wanting you,” he adds in a whisper.

My knees wobble. I still couldn’t speak. Still too afraid of what he was asking of me. Willing, but so scared.

“It’s just me, love. I would never judge you, or lie. I’ve wanted you for too long for that. And there isn’t a part of you that I don’t think is beautiful. Please…just trust me on this. Show me.”

With that, I could feel my protective walls crumbling a bit. I knew this battle was lost.

He leads me to my bedroom, and he sits down on the edge of my fluffy bed, my hands in his to show his support.

First, my shirt is completely unbuttoned and I let it fall.

Then, the loose-flowing pants I wore hushed around my ankles, nudged to the side with my black slip-on shoes.

And, standing there in nothing more than a bright red lacy bra and (sort of matching) boyshort undies before him, my flaws were finally in full view.

Eyes closed and head bowed, I say in my typically self-deprecating way as I gesture to each spot, “Here I am. Just like you asked. Every dimple, every pucker, every stretch mark. My tummy overhangs, my thighs jiggle, my ass bounces. Okay, that last one I’m fine with.”

“So am I,” he fires back salaciously.

I huff out a laugh at that one before sobering up. “But um, yeah. This is me.”

Cautiously, I look up, expecting repulsion, disgust, derision… anything that would prove my fears were right.

But no. There is none of that. Not even pity.

His eyes are searching me up and down, not in appraisal but… something else. It was an expression I’d never seen in anyone before.

My stomach quivers the moment his hands touch it, running his tips along stretch marks and feeling how round and squeezable it was.

“I’ve fallen asleep here before,” he says, almost in a state of wonder. “I’ve always loved resting my head here, or your lap.” As he says this, his hands touch my thighs, which echo the sensations in my tummy.

And then I feel his lips on my stomach. I could swear my heart stopped beating.

He lifts up barely an inch, and kisses it again, in a place just a little bit apart from the first.

“Soft. So soft. So unique,” he says, continuing to press his lips to, I discover, each stretch mark he finds on my stomach, working his way across and then down, leaving reverent praises in his wake.

I fought the urge to curl in on myself, to hide, to stop him.

_I’m not worthy._

_I’m not deserving._

_Please._

_Please._

_Please… **don’t stop**._

Tears fell from my eyes, hot and urgent. A pair of careful thumbs wipe them from my eyes, but I dare not look up.

“Look at me, love.” I do as he asks, finding him without his shirt. So wonderfully made was his upper body, carved out of dedication and endurance.

“There’s no part of you that isn’t beautiful to me… because you were beautiful to me before I ever thought of us like this. There hasn’t been a time I didn’t want you. So let me do this. Let me love you. Let me show you how you should be loved.”

He cradles my face, and his kiss steals my breath - and my defenses - away.

And for the moments that followed that night and beyond… I felt sensual, flawless, and free in his hands.


End file.
